Obsession, it works for both of them
by Eyeneversleep
Summary: Eames is addicted to lip balm, liking certain ones on certain days. Arthur is addicted to Eames using lip balm, forcing him to make out which makes Eames reapply more, trapping them in a vicious cycle. Written for a prompt from livejournal. M for language


**A/N: This was written for a prompt from livejournal's: Inception_kink meme. **

**In a nutshell the prompt is about Eames obsession for lip balm, he has them everywhere and because Arthur makes out with him when he has it on, he has to constantly reapply hence the vicious cycle.**

**I put my own twist on it of course. It can't be that cut and dry for our two men;)**

**As a side note since it was pointed out on livejournal that some parts of this fic aren't very clear. Some clarifications are in order so no one is confused: Menthol is mint. I cannot stress this enough. I could have flat out said "mint" but for the flow of the story I decided to use "menthol", thinking Eames would call it that in his head when referring to mint.**

**Menthol is made from peppermint and other mint oils as is Burts Bees. When I mention "menthol" it refers directly to mint flavor. The chemical compound "menthol" is used in lip balm. If you don't believe me, look it up.**

**I wrote this from my own personal experiences with addiction to menthol myself, specifically Burts Bees lip balm. I also have drew/made some parallels/similarities between menthol aka mint lip balm and menthol cigarettes-again this from personal experience, not to say everyone that likes/ has cravings for menthol lip balm will like/go for menthol cigarettes and try to combine them and vice versa but maybe some of you do. This concludes the clarification. Sorry for the long explanation but again it was pointed out to me that it wasn't "clear" or was "confusing" but what isn't clear or what others deem "weird" aren't confusing to others and other people "like".**

* * *

Obsession-it works for both of them

He inhaled deeply.

The cool, peppermint smell hit his nostrils sharply just like a cigarette.

He pursed his lips together; inhaling again and loved the smooth, cold, tingling feeling crawl all over his plump lips. He took a deep breath, letting the air hit his lips in a rush, increasing the numbing feeling.

He let it soak in, imagining it was like nicotine. It was like sex, almost.

He leaned back deeply into his chair, taking a sip from his morning's coffee feeling some of it come off, well that won't do.

He rummaged around in his pocket for it again, drawing it out and twisting the dial with his crooked fingers, bringing it to his lips once again and… nothing.

Forehead furrowed, coffee cup in one hand he fumbled with the tube again thinking he must have twisted the wrong way.

Nothing came up.

God, Fuck, shit, crap…damn.

He bit his now faded lubricated lip, he was regrettably out again and Arthur would not be pleased.

He slammed his coffee feeling the caffeine buzz almost immediately, feeling jittery and a little shaky as he rummaged for his keys.

Arthur was calling to him from the other room, asking him something. He shouted back some excuse, he needed cigarettes, wanted better coffee, telling him he'd bring him back both if he'd like.

He received a grumpy grunt that he took for an affirmation and was off.

He dodged the heavy rain which proved impossible. The big, fat drops found his neck, sliding coldly down his collar and the puddles seeped into his shoes making him shiver. He was nearly drenched as he pathetically ran to the garage.

He loved menthol on rainy days and he wasn't sure why, it just had to be menthol. Maybe it was the idea that it was dark and cold and that's exactly how menthol made him feel, like he was in winter in a snow clad field at midnight.

He was toying with the idea of getting menthol cigarettes too; a girly choice but thinking it might compliment his lip lubricant. Arthur again would not be pleased.

The convenience store was barren, who would be stupid enough to go out in such dismal weather?

The obsessed and addicted, that's who.

Arthur wasn't the only one with OCD tendencies with him always wanting everything remarkably stark and clean.

He mulled over their wares. He had bought it here before, he was sure of it. He scoured the shelves until he saw it-the empty box, the shelf marker.

They were out, of course they were.

He ran a hand through his soggy hair bringing it to his mouth, sticking a finger nail in and nibbling.

He flagged down the clerk but they offered no real help, only shrugging and suggesting other brands.

He swore under his breath and settled on the only other flavor they had: cherry, cringing.

He could go to another convenience store but he didn't like how it was looking outside. To further drive home the point lightning cracked suddenly, illuminating the sky. Thunder boomed a few seconds later.

He hurried with his purchase, getting coffee at the last second just to keep up appearances and wanting his last addiction.

"Bensons."

The clerk threw him a queer stare as he was ringing up the bounty.

"I'm sorry what?"

Eames groaned, he missed London. He would have to convince Arthur to take a holiday or whisk him away there one of these days.

"Benson and Hedges," he was growing more anxious and impatient, reaching for his wallet.

"I'm assuming that's a tobacco brand? Sorry, we don't carry it."

Eames suppressed a: "Well, you really don't have anything do you?" the dreary weather getting to him but settled with a forced smile and: "Pall Malls" instead.

Thankfully they had those.

He knew of some fag depots that sold his brand but again he didn't want to be out in this weather longer than he should.

He paid, grabbed his booty and was dodging the rain once again.

It was getting ugly outside. Wind and sideways rain pelted his body and whipped at his clothes.

He didn't like lighting up in the car but he couldn't in the house and since it was storming he knew he would be out on the porch or balcony which didn't sit well with him.

But he needed a hit first.

He removed the plastic casing, twisted the dial and applied the cherry lip balm liberally. It didn't curb his craving totally though. It was raining; it should be menthol on rainy days.

He lit up quickly after that, inhaling, feeling instantly less anxious as the nicotine clouded his innards with swirling smoke.

He would take a drag, then apply more balm, take another puff and more cherry brushed his lips.

He thought about chucking the lip balm in the garbage can when he pulled up into the garage but he couldn't remember where his others were, he was always losing them or they were falling out of the holes in his pockets.

He was jittery again as he ran up to the front door, this time for a different reason.

He knew how this would turn out and it always resulted in a scary cycle.

He shouldn't have wanted to walk through the house sopping wet but he did.

Arthur was regrettably in the living room like he was waiting for him, perched on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together tightly between his legs, knuckles turning white, looking pinched as always.

His head snapped to his direction when he walked in, water streaming off of every inch of his skin.

Eames held up the dripping wet coffees.

He regarded Arthur's ashy face.

"You weren't worried were you?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

"Why did you go out in this?"

"I'll take that for a yes."

He shook his head, sending water splaying everywhere and moved to the kitchen. He heard Arthur enter right behind.

"What did you get?" His voice was soft, warm, right behind him.

He wanted to hide the evidence but it was like Arthur knew, he always knew.

"Coffee, fags," he started to shimmy off his dripping wet coat, "And rain."

Arthur helped him out of his sopping wet thing. Eames bristled at his closeness, wanting more than ever to evade him.

"What else?" he cooed. He was much too close, he could feel his heat radiating on his back.

He turned around to face him.

"Nothing."

Arthur leaned in closer, disbelief playing at his dark eyes.

"Liar, I can smell it."

* * *

Eames knew what was coming next.

He tried to side step him but he moved with him, drawing closer. He stuck his nose right in his face and inhaled deeply.

"Cherry. You bought another one," condescending and stating facts.

Eames stayed close mouthed and again tried to move around him in the kitchen. It was like a little dance-Eames would move one way and Arthur would move the same way, blocking him. This went on for about a minute before Eames gave up.

"Why did you buy another one when you have literally hundreds around the house?"

He wouldn't meet his eyes because he knew they would be furious but also...

Arthur grabbed at his lapel suddenly, catching him off guard. His hands slipped on the wetness, not able to get a good hold so he grasped for his damp tie instead, pulling Eames down to his level.

When their mouths were only a breath apart he felt Arthur's warm breath tickling his face.

"Why do you torture me like this?" he breathed.

Eames would respond but his mouth was suddenly very busy.

* * *

After the long lip lock he released his hold on his tie, seeming satisfied.

Wearing cherry was dangerous. Arthur liked it a little too much and Eames would have to reapply it after he was forced to make out with him which resulted in more lip lock. It was a tiring cycle yet Eames couldn't help but feel slightly turned on as well. But he was in a poor mood, not getting his menthol lip balm or his favorite brand of fags and the rain had settled in his bones.

Arthur adjusted himself, smoothing back his hair, pursing his lips together, tasting, face impassive, pretending it never happened.

"Go get cleaned up," he turned on his heel and quickly left.

Eames was stunned and miffed. His lips were also very chapped again.

He dared not apply the cherry but he could never remember where the other tubes were.

He left the kitchen, trailing water as he left. He tried to avoid looking at Arthur as he passed through the living room. He saw him from the corner of his eye- reclining back into the sofa, a smug look playing on his face; his fingertips were lightly dusting his lips, probably liking the residual of his chapstick.

Why couldn't he get his own? He threw some mental daggers at him as he hurried up the stairs.

He began searching everywhere for them.

He started first with the bathroom. A couple were on the counter but they were empty. He found an empty stick of peppermint on the floor. He rooted around their drawers and cabinets and could only find Vaseline, well that wouldn't do, that was only for dire emergencies.

He flew to the bedroom ripping open dresser drawers. He found a couple sticks of cherry, some Bonnie Bell Smackers- glittery and disgusting flavors that Cobb's children had given him at Christmas as a "joke" (he wanted to murder Cobb), and more empty sticks. He really needed to clean his things out.

He shoved the drawers close angrily and went rooting around in the walk in closet, he shook out pockets, flipped through boxes and found more empty ones or disgusting flavors that he had tried on a whim.

He dove under the bed and spied one but it was a little out of reach.

"I'm not even going to ask what you're doing."

His voice surprised him and he hit his head on the bed frame.

He swore loudly and scrambled off the floor.

Arthur was leaning against the door frame, arms crossed, looking at his nails, looking smug. His lips were stained a little red and Eames swallowed hard.

Eames went around to the other side of the bed to get on his stomach to again reach for the fallen tube.

"Have you checked your car or the junk drawer? You don't want that one," he was mocking him of course.

He stretched his arm; it was just out of reach.

"Oh right, the glove box..."

He did keep some in the glove box for safe keeping. He was so disorganized however that when he tried to be neat, tidy and ahead of himself he only confused himself more.

There was a method to his madness...at least he told himself.

He still wanted the one underneath the bed however. Arthur just wanted him to continue to use the cherry though he would never tell him that directly.

He stretched his fingers and brushed the tube; he struggled for a good minute and finally got it. He heard Arthur chuckle.

It was menthol! Burts Bees, his favorite!

He drew it out and felt like a kid at Christmas.

It took all his self control not to jump up and make a whooping sound of excitement.

He hurriedly opened the cap, smelling the menthol and started drooling, twisted it to advance it and...

Oh, it was completely gross, dust bunnies and other things from the floor sticking to it. It looked rather old.

Arthur sniggered again.

He tried not to feel crushed as he threw it dramatically in the waste bin and continued to hunt around their bedroom for more sticks.

He yet again was so close...

"Try your shoes," he heard Arthur mumble as he was rooting around in the nightstand.

He was enjoying this, the bastard.

Eames dashed to the closet again and sure enough, there were some in his shoes, having fallen out of his jackets or pockets presumably.

And he found one, non cherry. He didn't remember buying watermelon but he internally shrugged.

It was better than being pounced on every time he reapplied.

He flipped the top off and was bombarded with the fruity smell.

It really should be menthol.

He applied it liberally, again satisfying him but only skimming the surface. His parched lips drank it in.

He felt Arthur behind him.

"You found it?"

Eames paused. Did Arthur plant it?

No, certainly he wouldn't...

Arthur's spindle like, bone white fingers were on his shoulder then, trying to get him to turn around.

Eames reluctantly obeyed.

Arthur leaned in close, closing his eyes and inhaled, looking like he was savoring him.

He leaned in further, eyes still closed to presumably taste him but Eames took a step backwards, further into the closest. He didn't have much room, nowhere to really go. He was trapped.

Normally he would embrace Arthur's affections and come-ons but when it came to his lip balm he drew a line. He liked certain ones at certain times and he felt strangely off and still grumpy at the moment. That and he smelled that something was a foot, Arthur was scheming.

"I want to change," he mumbled, which he found was true. He was soaked to the bone, his clothes sticking to him and he was getting a chill.

That brought Arthur up short. He opened his eyes and he looked devious and eager.

He nodded a little at his request.

"Let me help you."

He reached for his shirt and Eames was reluctant to push him away. Arthur was so found of dressing him and he didn't want to crush his spirits but he was afraid it was a trick.

He really didn't like watermelon anyway, or so he thought.

They undid his tie and unbuttoned his wet shirt together; Arthur was much quicker with his small, deft fingers. Eames' were trembling slightly, a reflex from the chills he told himself.

He was painfully aware of the heat radiating from the younger man. He wanted to sap some of that heat out. He pushed the thought aside and focused on his needs which weren't being met. It grounded him, kept him out of the situation.

Arthur folded up his damp shirt and tie (totally ridiculous) and tucked them away somewhere. Eames started to remove his belt when Arthur was at his side suddenly, a look on his face he couldn't quite place. He shoved his cold fingers rudely away. His body was a mass of goose pimples now and he rubbed at his arms to produce some heat.

Arthur didn't get the hint apparently and didn't hand him the appropriate attire or offer any warmth but instead methodically removed his belt, looping it around his bony wrist and again tucked it away somewhere.

He reached for his button but again Arthur was on him in a flash, shoving his pruned hands away.

Eames thought the whole thing was strange. He wasn't sure if he was being helpful or if this was payback or both.

He tried again to rise above it, to think of something else-maybe elephants, anything so he didn't think of Arthur so close to his crotch. He wasn't getting turned on, most certainly not.

But he was and thankfully some heat flooded his body with it since his partner was offering no warmth.

His now faded cherry stained lips were curled up into a half grin as he undid his button and moved to his fly, he kept his eyes trained to his work.

He felt himself stiffen at the close contact.

He was unzipped and his damp pants were removed in a blink of an eye.

Oh, well that wasn't how he thought that would go.

His bulge was prominent through his silky boxers. As much as he was turned on he really didn't want Arthur to notice. He didn't want him to win.

Arthur turned his back to him, apparently rooting through his wardrobe for suitable attire.

In his refusal to actually look at him or approach him his hard on actually increased to his dismay and Eames turned around, wanting to hide it once again.

He felt that radiating heat at his back a moment later, Arthur was holding out clothes to him-a sweater and dark corduroys.

He was shivering uncontrollably, not knowing if it was from cold or...

"You need to change out of these too," his bony fingers were on his waistband, tugging, his cock throbbed in insane pain and wanting.

He bit his fruity, tropical flavored lip, not trusting his voice.

Arthur must have sensed his hesitation and refusal to turn to around.

He was pressed against his back now, leaning into him, pushing him further into the closet. Eames was pushed into Arthur's fine suits, his rich, clean smell prominent in his nose. The new clothes Arthur had picked out for him were abandoned, somewhere on the floor now.

He knew, the bastard always knew.

He tugged at his waistband again, this time more forcefully. Eames bit his tongue and stifled the moan that was threatening to escape.

With difficulty, since Eames was no help, he tugged them down and he could swear he felt Arthur's grin as his smooth fingers lightly brushed his erection as he released him fully of his boxers.

He was practically gasping and shivers racked his naked body.

Arthur's warmth was on his shoulder again, forcing him to turn around.

"I want to taste you," his breath was behind his ear and one of his hands cupped his cock, he was done for. His body shuddered and dissolved into pure liquid gold pleasure and he couldn't find any breath.

He turned around and guided Arthur's hand so he was gripping him more fully around his length.

Arthur's eyes were deep and determined, his dark irises boring right into his soul. He was totally lost in them.

Eames closed his eyes as his warm touch enveloped him, moaning. He released some curses but finally settled on: "Yes, taste me, god damnit."

He felt the warmth increase but he released his hand on his cock.

"You asked for it," and suddenly hands were around his back and his hot tongue was tracing the outline of his lips slowly, licking up his lip balm.

Eames tried pushing him away, frustrated, knowing he was tricked but Arthur was strong, determined and so warm and pushed him right back, further still into the closet, into his clothes.

Arthur was the one moaning now and despite how angry he was at him Eames didn't want to admit it turned him on.

He was sucking on his bottom lip now, making these noises as he devoured him.

The struggle continued as Arthur slipped his wet tongue in his mouth, tasting of watermelon. He was losing himself again and he finally succumbed. He opened his mouth and reciprocated, kissing him back, Arthur abruptly stopped then, taking a step back. Eames was stunned.

Arthur dabbed at his glistening mouth as he threw him his clothes.

He heard him smack his lips together as he left the closet, adjusting his clothes as he went.

He needed to find a different lip balm and stat. He didn't know how much more he could go through. The whole thing was maddening though intoxicating.

He dressed quickly, feeling instantly better and warmer that he was out of his wet clothes.

His lips were burning but he dare not reapply anything just yet. He tried to remain angry as he marched downstairs, hearing the incessant rain drum against the house. Arthur was reclined back in his favorite spot on the couch, immersed in a book, like their encounter had never happened. His lips were slightly pink and he saw him mashing them together, tasting.

Eames tried to focus on the task at hand and tried not to get distracted.

He flipped over the other couch cushions, Arthur turned a page of his book, never batting an eye or flinching.

He licked his dry lips and foraged under the couch, feeling everywhere until he found one. He nearly shouted out triumphantly: "Ah ha!" as his fingers brushed a skinny tube of something or other. He drew it out quickly. It was Soft Lips, vanilla mint. He again didn't remember buying it. He was going to pop the lid off and apply, his lips seeming to burn more fiercely as he took it in when he paused. This could be another trick. Did Arthur plant this one too?

His eyes darted to his partner who was still absorbed in the book.

He played with the skinny, white tube in his fingers, thinking.

His lips were throbbing now. He could rummage around the rest of the house or try his glove box but he really didn't want to go out in the rain again. And Arthur did look busy, occupied. Mint with vanilla? There was no way…

With that settled he eagerly opened the tube, twisted the dial quickly to advance it and let the mint and vanilla smell hit him. It smelled fantastic and tasted equally as good as it soothed his irritated lips.

He closed his eyes and almost sighed, almost. He was tackled onto the couch, Arthur pinning him, totally ruining his moment.

* * *

Arthur was on him, not giving him any chance to protest.

His smaller hands pinned his arms to the couch, devoid of cushions as his nose grazed his cheek, inhaling him.

He could swear Arthur released an "Oh" under his breath and Eames sighed angrily, squirming. He was never using lip balm again. He was just going to have to suffer and have dried, cracked, bloody lips forever.

Arthur kicked off the other couch cushion so he could get a better angle and shifted on top of him.

Despite his frustration with him he did feel very good on top of him, liking the weight of him and how he was keeping him warm on this rainy and chilly morning.

No, he needed to push those thoughts out. He needed to put his foot down or in this case lips down.

He turned his head away and struggled again but his hands around his forearms were like vice grips.

Arthur chuckled and licked his stubbly cheek. He again tried to focus on his anger but felt his resolve crumbling.

He knew how to get to him.

He pressed in closer to him; Eames didn't think that was possible and he felt it, Arthur's erection digging into him.

His resolve crumbled some more but he kept dodging his attempts to steal a kiss, a lick, whatever else he was trying to do him. He wasn't going to make it easy for him.

But Arthur caught his mouth eventually, anticipating his move and he sucked and he nipped and he teased. It took everything Eames had not to lose his mind.

He didn't reciprocate this time though it was getting increasingly hard as Arthur was as well.

Maybe by letting him have his way fully this time he would stop and leave him alone or maybe it would blow up completely in his face. He wasn't sure of anything anymore as his hands finally left his aching arms and traveled up under his sweater, feeling his stomach.

He still didn't reciprocate as he was massaging his top lip with his tongue rhythmically, getting faster and faster, the taste of vanilla and mint deep in his mouth and throat now.

His hands were playing on the hard skin of his abdomen, treading northward as he enveloped his lips in a deep kiss. Eames felt he had one last scrap of resolve left, a tiny, thin thread. He wouldn't be able to resist much further.

But still he kept his arms limp on the couch and tried to focus on his now fading frustration and the uncomfortable springs digging into his back through the fabric.

His smooth, deft fingers found his nipples, twisting and he started to suck at Eames mouth with his own. He melted into the couch, he was done for.

Just as he was about to wrap his arms around him and deepen the contact a huge flash of lightning crackled, lighting up the room in a huge way, startling them both.

It brought him back to reality and used Arthur's moment of distraction to his advantage by pushing him back and scrambled out from underneath him. He felt slightly dizzy as he stood up so suddenly, blood rushing to his head. Arthur looked disheveled and stunned-a lovely sight. They both jumped when they heard the huge CRACK of thunder, shaking the house slightly.

He was flushed, his heart slamming in his chest, his arms and lips ached and he tried to drown out his rushing feelings of desire as he listened to the storm.

Arthur was breathing heavily on the couch yet he didn't move.

Eames started the search again, looking under the loveseat cushions, underneath the sofa, junk drawer, coffee table and all the other nooks and crannies of their living room.

He continued to not look at him as he was searching the bookcase.

"PASIV," he heard him say and he paused.

He was getting so tired of it. He really wanted his effing menthol, the craving taking over him, his lips burning and he considered running out in the storm again to go get it.

He whirled to face him. Arthur was still curled up on the non cushioned couch, looking comfortable; elbow propped, and face resting in his fist. He smoothed his lips together and met him with a smile, his eyes shining.

Eames crossed his arms.

"You must think I'm rather stupid."

Arthur shrugged.

"Fine. Then don't look."

Eames narrowed his eyes, lips bristling at the idea of cool, menthol lubricant and it tipped the scales.

He charged to the hall closet, telling himself he was only doing it to satisfy his curiosity. He was not going to apply any lip balm that may or may not be there.

He removed the heavy metal briefcase, setting it on the floor, growing anxious. He had run out of ideas of where they could be.

He unlocked it and whipped it open. Inside was a stick of his precious Burts Bees, the familiar yellow tube greeting him with a pretty red bow on top. He stared at it, dumbfounded. He blinked several times thinking he was seeing things.

He drew it out, getting up and turning to Arthur on the couch.

"Why?" It was the only thing he could think of to ask.

Arthur turned his head to his direction, his smile dissolving.

"You always use menthol on rainy days and I knew you were running low. I didn't want you to find it, it was a surprise. I didn't want you going out in the storm and I wanted some of your attention before you applied any more of that nasty stuff. I hate the menthol. That's why I planted the ones I like all over the house, hoping you'd like those better," he turned his down casted eyes away, looking a little embarrassed.

Leave it to Arthur to keep perfect track of his nonsense.

"But I'm sorry I tricked you or forced you into anything and I'm not so cruel as to not give you what you really want," he mumbled, the hurt evident in his voice.

Eames looked at the Burts Bees in his hands, his lips screaming for it. It would be so easy to rip it open, undo the cap and smother his lips with its mentholy goodness. He played with the bow a little and looked at Arthur who was watching the rain outside their window, looking forlorn.

"I really liked the vanilla mint one. Where did you get it?"

Arthur shifted on the couch but still wouldn't look at him. "CVS."

Eames approached him. Arthur drew up his legs so that Eames could sit next to him. Eames took Arthur's legs, who didn't protest, and he placed them on his lap. He stroked his leg affectionately until Arthur finally looked at him, still looking miserable.

Eames theatrically threw the Burts Bees across the room, wanting him to see it.

"Thanks for the gift, darling but I won't be needing it."

Arthur's eyes grew large and he blinked at him a few times, face drawn up in surprise.

Eames smiled a toothy grin and Arthur's face dissolved into one too.

Eames leaned towards him. "You could have just asked you know."

Arthur's grin widened and he shrugged. "Where's the fun in that?"

He slid next to him, half of Arthur practically on top of him.

Arthur regarded his face as Eames lightly ran his thumb across his lips, making him shudder.

"Now where's that damnable Soft Lips? I think we should give it another go," he breathed, drawing in closer to his face.

Arthur produced one from his pockets in a flash, grinning sexily. "You never thought to check my pockets, love. I have a million in here."

Eames should have been irritated but he wasn't as he watched Arthur open the new tube and inhale the fresh scent.

Arthur applied it to his first; slowly sweeping his smooth lips, tracing the intimate outlines of his lines and curves. Eames' eyes couldn't get enough. After two or three coats and his lips looked quite shiny and delicious Arthur pursed his lips together slowly, rubbing them together and finally resting on a full lipped pout.

Arthur handed the tube to a mesmerized Eames, winking.

Eames inhaled the smell, thinking he could definitely get used to it.

He did the online of his plump lips first liking how Arthur was watching him closely. He then swept the middle slowly, glazing over his reddened flesh, liking how it soothed him immediately. With his mouth partially open he then slowly swept his top lip, going back and forth, sending Arthur a sexy stare, liking the way the younger man squirmed and looked like he was going to devour him. He did the same with the bottom, slowly sweeping, going back and forth. When he felt he couldn't absorb anymore he pursed his lips together as slowly as he could, licking his lips equally as slowly. Arthur grabbed at him, crushing their slippery, wonderfully lubricated lips together. They lost themselves to each other, listening to the storm, not getting distracted this time, Eames knowing that it would always be forever vanilla and mint on rainy days.


End file.
